"What a good memory you must have, Mr. Wilton! It's as much as I can do to remember the people I meet in _this_ existence. I believe I saw you in Mrs. Ogilvie's box at _Madame b.u.t.terfly_."

"I know, I saw you from there. I was rooted to the spot--I believe that's the right expression, though it sounds rather agricultural--while at the same time you might have knocked me down with a feather! It's really true, you might. But I know you wouldn't have, you're far too good and kind."

"I don't think I _had_ any feathers with me," said Felicity.

Bertie went on. "But this life is so short.--Do you think it's worth it?--(Do have some mayonnaise.)--I mean the kind of thing one does--waiting, waiting--at last asking, for instance, to call on your day--only meeting in throngs--perhaps not getting a chance, for months, to tell----"

"I suppose life _is_ rather long, isn't it?" Felicity said, as a concession.

"Then I may come and see you the day after to-morrow?" he asked.

"Not till the day after to-morrow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why wait so long?"

"At what time?" he persisted, smiling.

"You may call next Monday--at five. Not this week."

"That's impossible. I can't. It's too dreadful. I can't wait till Monday, I can't.... Well, let me come on Tuesday, then?"

"_I_ see. You're particularly engaged on Monday. After all, why trouble?

There are so many people for you to call on!"

"If I might call to-morrow, ONCE, I'll never be engaged again! I'll never call on any one else during the whole of my natural life."

"All right," she said absently. "Call to-morrow, ONCE, as you say. Not that I ever heard of any one calling twice the same day, at least not the first day."

"Oh, Lady Chetwode, how kind of you! Did you say five? Can't you make it half-past four?"

"Very well."

"Won't you make it three? I beg your pardon. I'll walk up and down in front of the house strewing flowers from three till half-past four and then come in, may I? And will there be crowds of people there?"

"Well, you haven't given me much time," said Felicity. "I'll try to get up a party by to-morrow, if you wish it."

"How can you be so unkind! Do you think me very pushing--and vulgar?"

"Very. No, only vulgar."

"At any rate, I'm sincere. It's like Tristan and Ysolde; at least, it's like Tristan. You can't look me straight in the eyes and tell me I'm not sincere!"

Felicity looked; and was quite satisfied.... How hard it was that Chetwode was not there for her to tell him all about the conversation going home! This thought vexed her so much that she became absent and lost spirit to keep it up.

Mr. Rivers had promised to send the red-haired girl, who had fallen hopelessly in love with him, his latest book. He had arranged to take her and her mother to a concert at the Queen's Hall the following Sunday afternoon.

Roy Beaumont was the centre of a crowd of interested people, chiefly bearded men, who paid him sportive homage, and pretty women, as he ill.u.s.trated, by means of a winegla.s.s, two knives, and a saltspoon, his new invention for having one's boots fastened by electricity, which was to do for Marconigrams, expose radium as a foolish fraud, and consign clock-work to limbo. "You don't touch the b.u.t.tons and the invention does the rest," he pointed out.

Aunt William in her peach gown was taken down to supper by Jasmyn. He was a plump middle-aged young man, a very social person, and quite an arbiter on matters of fashion; known for his kindness and politeness to dear old ladies and shy young men. A romantic affection for a certain widow, whom his friends said he spoke of as "Agatha, Mrs. Wilkinson," to give the effect of a non-existent t.i.tle, had prevented him, so far, from marrying. He was bland and plaintive, looked distinguished, supremely good-natured, and rather absurd.

"It is too marvellous," said Aunt William, as she ate her _foie-gras_.

"What a collection my dear brother-in-law has a.s.sembled to-night. Half the people here I have never heard of in the whole course of my life!"

"And the other half," said Jasmyn, "you have perhaps heard of rather too often. No strawberries, Mrs. Crofton?"

"No thank you. I don't care for fruit, except in its proper season. My dear husband always said strawberries were not eatable till the fourth of June."

"Ah, how right he was!" said Jasmyn absently, eating a very large one.

"I suppose he didn't care for _primeurs_. Personally, I admit that I am absolutely sick of asparagus by April, but I think it best to eat and drink as much as possible because I suffer so terribly from depression."

"Depression! Yes, you would. Having everything on earth you want, and being thoroughly spoilt, like all men of the present day, you would naturally have low spirits."

"Ah, I dare say you don't believe me. But I a.s.sure you, Mrs. Crofton, that under all my outward misery I generally have an aching heart....

How lovely Lady Chetwode's looking!"

"Lady Chetwode," said Aunt William loyally, "is a most brilliant woman.

Her sister is a beautiful girl, and her brother Savile is doing well at Eton. His last report----"

"Do you know, I'm terribly frightened of Savile," said Jasmyn. "He's such a man of the world that I feel positively crude beside him."

Before the end of the evening, Ridokanaki took an opportunity to ask if Woodville would dine with him.

"I want to have a little talk with you," he said. "I have an idea--it may be perfectly wrong--that what I have to say may interest you."

Woodville accepted; surprised at his rival's cordiality.

"At Willis's, then, at eight, Mr. Woodville?"

"At eight. Thanks very much."

CHAPTER VIII

FELICITY AND HER CLIENTS

When Felicity woke up in her enormous, over-draped, over-decorated, gilded, carved, and curved bed she was immediately as wide awake as though she had been up several hours.

There was no slow rousing to the realities of life, no sleepy yawning or languid return from a land of dreams. She dashed the hair out of her eyes, at once put on her gla.s.ses (for in private she was short-sighted), and began immediately and systematically to tell her fortune by cards.

She did this regularly every morning. It was a preliminary to her day's campaign, when Everett came in with the tea and letters, drew aside the heavy blue curtains, embroidered all over with gold fleur-de-lys, and let in a ray of April sunshine. According to her usual practice, Felicity kept up a running commentary on her correspondence.

"From darling Chetwode.--'My own beautiful little angel, It is quite'--what's this? hop-picking? no--'heart-breaking that I can't get back to you for another week. Tobacco Trust was beaten by a short head, as of course you know, but Onlooker is a dead certainty for to-morrow.

Will wire result.

"'I saw a most marvellous old cabinet in a cottage near here'--he _would_!--'an extraordinary bargain. It will just go in the corner of----'" She put the four closely written sheets down and opened some more envelopes.

"'Lady Virginia Creeper at home. Five to seven.' Well, I can't help it.

Let her stop at home. It's the best place for her.